Sorcerer’s Handbook

In Mephila, in the wardrobe of a suite on the left side of the second floor of Belldate Manor, there was a row of White Ghost Mask and black robe outfits. The White Ghost Mask had three holes resembling a skull, and the black robe was wide and deep, looking extremely eerie even when no one wore it.

Suddenly, one of the black robes sprouted limbs and walked out, like a resurrected evil spirit.

However, he couldn’t maintain his posture and fell directly onto the carpet after taking two steps. He removed the White Ghost Mask, revealing a pale and haggard face, beads of sweat on his nose, and cheeks flushed from lack of oxygen. He breathed shallow and rapidly, with a “huff huff” sound, his body aching so much that he didn’t even want to move a fingertip.

Lung function impaired, poor contact in all parts of the body… That damned girl! If you’re sick, go see a vet! Don’t let me run into you again!

For the first time in many years, the Con Artist couldn’t help but curse out loud in anger.

The more Igor thought about it, the angrier he got. The first time he encountered another sorcerer on the Time Continent, he ran into Harvey, an old acquaintance. Naturally, they teamed up to explore together and unexpectedly discovered both the heroic soul legion and the Death Arena at the same time.

All these lucky opportunities piled up together, it was like the goddess of fortune was spoon-feeding him. Igor even wondered if he had exhausted all his future luck and would slip and crack his head on the bathtub the next morning.

Although neither of them had received formal sorcerer education, no sorcerer would be foolish enough to not investigate Virtual Realm intelligence. In the Virtual Realm, where one could only travel alone, the only one a sorcerer could rely on was themselves. Moreover, the Death Arena and the heroic soul legion were not secretive entities, so they naturally had some knowledge about them.

As the Con Artist pondered, he connected the dots and thought of using the Death Arena to trap and kill the heroic soul legion. After hearing this whimsical yet coherent scheme, Harvey’s only comment was, “When are you going to start a new venture with Ashe, reorganize the Four Pillars Cult, kill the Empress, and seize the throne? I’ll be content managing the morgue for you.”

The necromancer who had long since removed the term “cherish life” from his dictionary naturally had no objections to taking risks, but things went more smoothly than expected. Igor hid inside a coffin that Harvey had hastily constructed, and the Arena recognized them as a team, teleporting in a heroic soul commander and a Thousand-feathered Drake.

Though separated from her legion, the female commander showed no signs of panic. She glanced at Igor and Harvey, assuming a Swordsmanship Stance, while the Thousand-feathered Drake, covered in black armor, appeared to be enhanced.

But this was all within Igor’s plan.

Since he and Harvey were teamed up, the Arena would naturally send a two-person team to fight them. Igor had long anticipated an unstable factor. The combination of “heroic soul commander + knowledge creature” was, in Igor’s view, the best possible scenario.

Miracle: Domination of the Mind!

This Miracle was the most rigid impression and quintessential hallmark of the Mental Sect—directly dominating other creatures and seizing control of their minds! The higher one’s Sect Realm in the Mental Sect, the higher the success rate!

However, this Miracle actually had poor effects on intelligent creatures. Even if a sorcerer hadn’t specifically studied the Mental Sect, just by navigating social interactions, managing relationships, and experiencing the warmth and coldness of human nature, it was equivalent to Mental Sect training, albeit not to the threshold of a silver-level qualitative change.

But for knowledge creatures, who lacked social experience and civilization, this Miracle was extremely effective. The reason Igor could thrive on the Time Continent was that he would dominate a large knowledge creature as a mount every night.

Even when encountering communities of social creatures, Igor was unafraid. He could temporarily dominate one or two social creatures to incite internal conflict, using his command skills to annihilate the community with fewer numbers.

Just like now!

After seizing control of the Thousand-feathered Drake, even though the commander had also armored herself, she was powerless against the combined assault of Igor and his companions.

Don’t forget, Harvey had also brought in a zombie Dire Jackal Dragon he made that night. With a total of four command units, Igor hadn’t fought such a well-resourced battle since entering the Virtual Realm. He toyed with the commander, gradually wearing down her armor Miracles bit by bit.

As time passed, the commander grew weaker and weaker, and the dawn of victory began to embrace them. However, Igor did not relax in the slightest; instead, he became even more cautious and careful!

He understood very well that this might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a chance to kill a heroic soul commander that might never come again. According to the Virtual Realm’s principle of “the greater the risk, the higher the reward,” killing the commander would undoubtedly yield immense benefits, massively boosting his strength.

And strength was precisely what Igor lacked the most.

Annan, the Weaving Festival, Yvaren Belldate… although their personal safety was temporarily assured, this assurance was tenuous, a gift from others, and only because they still had value to be exploited.

Igor did not fantasize about gaining the power to solve all problems just because of his current predicament. He still loved the game rules and respected the game order. But the issue was that they were still pawns, and pawns used by Annan to cheat. Their safety was not protected by the game; even if they died, it would simply mean one less game exploit.

Igor just wanted a bit more say, a few more chips, a bit more room to maneuver with Annan and Yvaren.

Among them, only Harvey had a promising future but was currently underperforming. Relying on Ashe was less dependable than expecting the Four Pillars to have a change of heart, and Lise was only good at causing trouble. Igor could only rely on himself.

He had to rely on himself.

Killing the heroic soul commander might be the turning point he could seize!

The Con Artist gritted his teeth, pounded the carpet, and struggled to stand up with the help of a table.

Those two damned meddling women!

Why did they have to team up and enter the Arena at that exact moment?

Igor watched helplessly as the heroic soul commander, who was about to be slaughtered by them, patted her butt and left the Arena, replaced by two fully armed female sorcerers!

At that moment, Igor almost wanted to lie down in Harvey’s coffin and give up!

He had planned countless social engineering projects under the Blood Moon, encountering numerous unexpected double-crosses, but none was as outrageous as this—this was the first time he had been thwarted by an event with less than a 1% probability!

What made it even more infuriating was that they couldn’t defeat them!

Although neither mental sorcerers nor necromancers excel in skirmishes, at that time, they had both the Thousand-feathered Drakes and the Dire Jackal Dragon as combat units. With the two of them providing support, their chances of winning seemed high no matter how you looked at it.

However, when Igor tried to extract some interest from the two female sorcerers to recoup his losses, he was utterly shocked by their power.

The red-haired female swordsman had terrifying explosive power, and combined with their strange armor Miracles, the zombie Dire Jackal Dragon was torn to pieces. Harvey could at most reassemble the bones and barely hold his ground. Igor fared even worse; the black-and-white female sorcerer he faced had mastery over a Time Sect spirit. Whenever the Con Artist moved, he would overshoot his position, landing himself directly within her attack range, where she would bind his joints with threads and beat him senseless.

Even though he surrendered and exited in time, Igor’s joints, chest, and lungs were still affected. The injuries to his soul were reflected in his physical body, and with his spellforce nearly depleted, Igor felt like a broken toy in a trash heap.

“Heart of Stone!”

“Iron Will!”

Draining the last bit of his spellforce to add mental enhancements, Igor felt he could barely operate this machine with loose screws.

“No, it’s almost seven…” Igor walked to the bathroom. “I need to take a quick shower and get to work… Can’t let Yvaren dock my pay…”

After filling the bathtub with warm water, he laboriously took off his clothes, turned on the showerhead to rinse his body, and then closed his eyes to wash his hair—

His heel touched the bathroom stool, an ordinary action that seemed to loosen a bolt in his body. Igor felt his knees give out suddenly, his body losing balance, and he crashed hard onto the bathroom tiles.

Splash!

The water splashed loudly, as if shouting the pain.

The Con Artist lay on the tiled floor, water streaming over him, shampoo bubbles still in his hair. He hadn’t felt this humiliated even when captured by the Blood Hunter.

After a long while, he slowly sat up, looking down at the water splashing on the floor. The stream of water hit his hair, trickling down his face and hair strands.

“Why did this happen…”

“Why did we lose…”

“Why did I miss this opportunity… How could I miss this opportunity…” Igor bit his lower lip, watching the ripples created by the water droplets, his shoulders trembling slightly. “There might have been a spirit that could release us from the Pact with Annan…”

“Why did it have to be this time…”

Creak.

Igor suddenly heard the sound of the door opening and closing from outside, followed by familiar footsteps tapping on the floor. He quickly rubbed his eyes and tried to make himself look less disheveled—

Knock, knock.

No one barged in.

“Are you okay? Need any help?”

Igor was surprised to see a silhouette knocking on the bathroom door. “Why are you here?”

“When someone falls in the bathroom, others are notified. Wealthy families always show their humanistic care in these ways. Ah, it’s good to be rich.”

Igor glanced at the green indicator light by the bathtub. When he fell earlier, it immediately detected it and broadcasted to everyone that a hapless Con Artist had taken a spill, inviting them to come and mock him.

“I’m fine!”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re fine. Why do you sound like you’re about to cry? Come on, how old are you? Falling and crying?”

The Con Artist instinctively rubbed his eyes and quickly adjusted his tone. “No, I just… had a bit of an accident in the Virtual Realm last night, so my voice is a bit off.” Since his physical anomalies would be exposed during work anyway, there was no point in hiding it.

“What kind of accident?”

“Can you leave me alone? I need to take a bath!”

“I’m not coming in. You bathe, I talk.”

Looking at the silhouette outside the frosted glass door, Igor suddenly understood something. His expression grew complicated as he carefully sat down in the bathtub, the water level gradually rising until it covered his chest and collarbone.

The warm water seemed to temporarily tighten the screws on his machine, and his rapid breathing gradually calmed down.

“…I just missed a very important opportunity, one I might never encounter again.”

“That’s tough, but I had a pretty smooth exploration last night.”

“Are you here to pick a fight?”

“No, but even if you missed an opportunity, isn’t wailing a bit much?”

“Your rumors keep escalating. What’s next, am I supposed to be sobbing uncontrollably?” Igor retorted irritably. “I just… can’t see any hope.”

“What hope?”

“The hope of turning the tide.” Igor’s voice grew somber. “Annan, Belldate, Senhaeser, the Yisuo royal family, the Red Hats, and many, many more… Gospel now only has two kinds of people: those who want to kill us and those who want to use us. Aside from that elusive Divine Sovereign’s Wish, I can’t see any opportunity.”

“Can we really survive the Weaving Festival? Is there anyone in Gospel who can help us?” Igor looked down at his blurry reflection in the water, a drop of water falling from his hair and causing ripples. “Harvey only cares about his Alice, and you’re so unreliable. Every day, I keep thinking, what to do, what to do… I’m really at my wits’ end…”

Since arriving in the Kingdom of Gospel, the pressure on Igor had been mounting day by day.

The Art Ranking and Family Ranking instantly made them the most talked-about doomsday stars in Gospel. Every day, Igor contemplated how to deal with their rapidly deteriorating reputation, all while being watched by Annan and Banjeet. This dire situation, offering almost no way out, had left the Con Artist mentally exhausted. Recently, falling into Belldate’s hands only added insult to injury for their already troubled family.

The defeat in the Virtual Realm Arena was nearly the final straw that broke his mental defenses. Igor felt as if Lady Luck had lifted her skirt only to pull a handgun from her thigh garter and shoot him.

He knew that complaining wouldn’t solve anything, but he couldn’t help feeling aggrieved. In the past, he would never have shown such weakness. The most crucial aspect of being a Con Artist was to always maintain the persona of having everything under control. Once that facade crumbled, no one would believe in his deceptions anymore.

Perhaps it was the soul wound inflicted by the Black and White Sorceress, or maybe it was the recent head injury from his fall. It could even be the frosted glass separating him from Ashe, but for some reason, Igor began pouring out his troubles.

“Why not listen to the Gospel?” Ashe suddenly suggested.

“Huh?”

“Look, we appeared in the Future Ranking, which means Gospel believes we’ll definitely survive into the future. This is a time to trust in the Omniscient Weaver’s power. Don’t overthink it; Gospel will help us.”

Igor laughed bitterly, “I won’t even mention that we appeared on the ranking list because of deception… But the problem is, I’m not on the list!”

“So you have to believe in Gospel and believe in us,” Ashe said. “Based on our friendship, if we’re all suffering in the future, how could we let you stay in the past and enjoy yourself?”

“…Your way of comforting people is really unique.”

“I wouldn’t dare try to comfort a mental sorcerer, but if you really need us to do something, Harvey and I probably wouldn’t refuse. We might not be able to keep up with your thinking, but we can certainly share your worries. If we all stress together, you won’t be as stressed by yourself.”

“Hmph, you really have the self-awareness of an artiodactyla.”

“A Con Artist who cried after slipping in the bathroom shouldn’t be so arrogant… Lise?”

The bathroom door was suddenly pushed open, and Lise, dressed in a white maid outfit, rushed in. However, she slipped on the wet floor and fell loudly onto the tiles, sliding to the edge of the bathtub and lightly bumping her head against it with a dull thud.

Ashe: “…”

Igor: “…”

But Lise quickly got up, patting her butt, and hurried to the bathtub, nervously asking, “Aunt Bukin, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself anywhere? We should get a Healer right away.”

Igor was slightly taken aback. When he looked up, he saw Ashe’s amused expression, as if saying, “Even a child is better than you.” His face reddened slightly, and he reached out to straighten Lise’s hair. “I’m fine.”

Seeing the unreserved concern on Lise’s face, Igor felt his heart melt like ice cream. Although he still felt frustrated, the Con Artist’s anxiety seemed to dissipate in the warm bath.

He sighed, “Ashe, I won’t be able to go to the canteen later. Can you bring me some breakfast?”

“No problem.” Ashe opened the Gospel Book and sent a voice message: “Harvey, bring some breakfast to Igor’s room.”

Come to think of it, can Harvey even move? I remember he was bisected by that red-haired sorceress…

At that moment, Igor suddenly noticed something. He held Lise’s face in his hands, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Why does Lise feel so familiar to me…?”

A slightly guilty Little Witch and her nervous sisters: “Σ(っ°Д°;)っ！”

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